When her eyes flutter open, she looks straight at the instrument. And smiles, finding it contains not only shadow magic in a foggy cloud.
But light.
Light magic, distilled and shimmering, a shade she’s never seen before, perhaps a new colour entirely, one pale as the moon, bright as sunlight, gleaming likepearls. She brushes her fingertips against the glass and her magic gathers on the other side of the glass, as though wishing to be reabsorbed, wanting to be used. Even as she watches, the light grows stronger, glowing softly, as though the magic itself is a sentient thing.
‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,’ Ethlet breathes, transfixed.
Eli lowers Lowri into a chair, kneeling beside her. ‘Are you all right? Did you give too much?’
‘I’m fine,’ Lowri says, fighting a wave of tiredness. ‘I understand it now. Burnout, replenishment, the balance of my magic. When I gave it away, when it left my veins … I could sense it. The light and the shadow. And more colours in between, a whole spectrum, like the tiniest jewels.’
‘The components of a witch’s magic,’ Hellius says in awe, writing it all down. ‘Each creature, each human, has a formula, a cocktail of every strand in different quantities.’
‘And mine is mostly light magic,’ Lowri says in hushed wonder, watching as it expands and ripples. Then she turns to Eli. ‘Your father was a genius. To create this instrument, to find a means of studying magic in this way. To distil magic, to transform it and be able to use it. Remarkable.’
Eli smiles sadly. ‘His legacy.’
‘But without a creature like you, a witch, he was never able to use it, to see it in action.’ Hellius blinks quickly. ‘You realise what this means?’
‘We can break the fog,’ Ethlet whispers.
They all stare at the instrument for a moment, Lowri contemplating Isaiah’s legacy and what this means for Ethlet’s future. ‘If he had been able to walk through worlds, to traverse back to your mother, Eli … He could have brought her here. He could have saved this place long ago.’
Eli runs a hand down his face. ‘Five days, Lor. I would give anything for those five days.’
Lowri cannot find the words to comfort him, cannot offer him anything. Death is beyond her, beyond all of them. She places her hand on his shoulder and murmurs, ‘You may not have been able to save him, but you can save his world. By bringing me here, you’ve done what he could not. That will beyourlegacy.’
‘And this,’ Hellius says. With a guilty look, he offers a notebook to Eli: a dark-grey battered thing that seems to bulge with many words. ‘The notebook your father left in my safe keep, that I should have given you when we first met. I was wrong to keep it. I’m sorry. It’s what he would have taken to your world if he’d had the chance. It contains details about what you’ve seen here today, about burnout and theories on the complexities of a witch’s magic, writings on how he could save your mother, if she struggled with birthing you.’
Eli’s fingers tremble as he takes the notebook. Lowri watches as his face clears, as his shoulders drop, as though he has released a burden, carried for far too long. ‘He … he really meant to return to save her,didn’t he? He meant to all along. I … thank you. Thank you, Hellius.’
Hellius nods. ‘Now, drink the light magic. Drink and restore your magic, so that you can traverse home. And you too, witch. The instrument allows it to expand quickly. Drink and restore balance to your blood.’
They assemble in the graveyard, as before. Ethlet hovers a few steps away, watching anxiously, Gracious at her heels.
If you return, witch, you may not recognise me. I may look like any ordinary cat.
‘I’ll always know what’s really beneath that fur, Gracious,’ Lowri says with a grin. ‘Light magic or no, you fool no one. You should speak to Ethlet, though. You belong to each other now. I might have taken you with me, had I not found balance. But you’re needed here.Sheneeds you.’
Gracious twitches his tail and rolls his eyes in a way that is definitelynotcatlike.As you wish, Lowri Tresillian. She has much to learn. A world to save, it seems.
‘Ethlet,’ Eli says, moving towards her, ‘I want you to have this.’ He pulls out an envelope, addressed to her. ‘The deeds to my father’s house. I found them in his study and sent a message sparrow to a lawmaker to ensure it was transferred into your name. It’s yours now. Your home.’
Ethlet takes the envelope and presses a hand to her mouth. Then she rushes at Eli, hugging him, and hepats her on the back through a stream of unintelligible words.
‘Good luck with the fog and the light magic. With time and that instrument, you should be able to draw off enough light magic to begin the process.’
Ethlet swallows. ‘The Society may not accept me …’
Eli levels his gaze on hers. ‘Convince them. Show them. You are Isaiah’s niece and you have more inside you than you know. Thank you for helping us.’
‘Thankyou.’ Ethlet steps back, wiping her eyes. ‘You really are Isaiah’s son.’
Eli bows his head and beckons to Lowri, clasping her hand in his own. Then, with a final glance at his father’s gravestone, grief pinches his features. It is so hard to shape into something he can understand and heal from, when all his father has ever been is a hollow absence, and even now there are questions unanswered. Lowri grieves for him, for herself, for the love of a parent neither of them have ever truly felt, as he tears his eyes away and focuses on the space before him. Now, the ripples of time and space are almost instant, strong and assured as Eli’s magic flows from him.
A doorway.
A threshold.
